


Something to hold

by bblamentation



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bblamentation/pseuds/bblamentation
Summary: Kevin's life has been filled with people and exy. As a Raven he was held up by strings as a great exy player on four courts. Yet, it only took a skiing trip to cut his ties and loosen his grip.No strength, nothing to hold... but the skiing trip was not the end, for Kevin had sought help.
Relationships: Kevin Day & Abby Winfield, Kevin Day & Andrew Minyard, Kevin Day & David Wymack, Kevin Day & Neil Josten
Kudos: 14





	Something to hold

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write a Kevin-centric fic and this is but one. I don't know where this is supposed to go but it turned out longer than I thought.
> 
> I haven't proofread this but I just needed to get it out of my WIP folder.

It had been the _ski trip_. A winter event of jealousy, of malicious intent. Kevin fled with nothing but Riko’s spite and cold laughter in his ears. He should have hidden in the toilets and waited for the bleeding to stop, waited for Jean to find him, waited to be taken back to the nest. But all he could think about was the note his mother had left about his father…

It was a hooded Kevin dry-heaving at the back of the Virginia Stadium clenching his right hand on the wall whilst his left shivered with a numbness and loss that reached his throat. It was trying to bring himself to check his phone, slightly slick with red, that Virginia were this year’s hosts for the Christmas banquet. It was convincing himself they were close enough he could latch onto that event. Latch onto Coach David Wymack. It was checking to make sure he had a place to escape to. It was knowing he had never run before, despite being a coward—or rather because he was a coward.

It was Kevin gritting his teeth as his hand bled in the makeshift bandage of his uniform. It was seeing the Virginian stadium, drinking exy, but tasting the iron blood of his dripping hand. It was seeing the Palmetto bus with relief. It was running to one of the entrances panting, chewing at the state of his appearance. It was fearing someone would spot him. It was hoping someone would.

Panic was hitching and riding a high Kevin could not control. Whether it was luck or fate or some other destined thing, Kevin saw a familiar woman stepping out of the doorway. He hurried towards her, vaguely recognising the woman as the foxes’ medic.

It was Kevin being greeted by a woman whose face was so soft his voice cracked before he let out a rasp. It was a jumble of actions he could not remember the order. It was Kevin pulling out his hand. No, he had spoken to her first. It was Kevin crumbling when the woman inhaled and pulled him to the side. No, she had called for someone behind her first. It was Kevin seeing the coach he had seen so many times on tv and had read in that one letter. No, the coach had been there from the beginning.

It was Kevin being dragged elsewhere. Hurried. It was finding himself in a sterile bathroom. It was the fox’s medic hushing the quiet tears that streamed his face and rocked his body. It was Kevin head bowed down as the woman held his hand. It was Kevin silent. It was his father offering him a drink. To numb the pain? Which pain?

It was only blood and bone.

It was Kevin undeserving of the sterile bandages; the temporary stitches from a first aid kit that would be re-stitched later; the hands that worked on his own. But it was feeling safe in a room with two people he had only formally met in First Class Exy promotions. And so, it was Kevin wretching words that he had to hide. He had gone too far. His words clung to the two adults just as his blood smeared their formal attire: a dress stained and a shirt speckled in red.

They were Abby and Coach Wymack. They spoke in assurances and bluntness. They let him sit on the front row of the bus draped in their clothes. He shivered as a pack of foxes climbed onto the bus.

Yesterday, Kevin had been on four teams. Today, he would no longer be a Raven.

* * *

Being a fox was hard. More so, the frustration of not being able to play on the court began to toll; he could only shout at the players in the box when they were too rough and not rough enough with the drills. There was no uniformity. They each needed work. The goalkeeper irked him to no end. He barely even played half-heartedly. Far often, their arguments rebounded off the plexiglass.

So maybe…

It had been desperation.

Andrew stood before him—no smile; no drugs. But neither of them was sober. Columbia a test to that. Kevin groaned—not from the vodka, not from whatever Andrew’s bartender had mixed, it was the cowardness that ran through his veins. Kevin was wretched and raw. He could not breathe, sinking into the ground. Deep. Deep. It was deeper than the Raven’s nest. It was being buried in the pits. There was not a place to crawl out of. Kevin needed something.

A rope. To cling to? But his left hand no longer had the grip.

It was Kevin clawing to a promise. It was Andrew coming down from his high. It was Andrew staring at him blank-faced as he recounted the truth. It was spilling Moriyama secrets. Ties. It was Andrew turning his head to look the other way. It was Andrew ignoring the heaving breaths Kevin exhaled as he tried to calm himself. It was Andrew asking. It was Andrew pushing. It was Andrew promising. And it was Kevin all shaking and nodding his head; promising that he could give Andrew something to live for.

Andrew had held out his left hand for Kevin. Not to hold. Only to promise.

There, it was Andrew holding the numbness of a scarred hand – a marred past.

* * *

Then, the promise had been exy.

Now, Kevin was not sure.

No, it was still exy. Exy was his constant. Exy was his life. He _would_ find the way to coax the goalkeeper onto the court without aid or bribery. When that goalkeeper would understand that exy was more than a game he lived on.

But to his chagrin, exy could not be everyone’s life. 

For Kevin, it was not adrenaline in a heated and rough game. It was the persistence and strength one underwent to be at the top. As a Raven, it was being his best but not the best. As a Fox, it was being more. It was swinging a racket to make the ball rebound from the same spot for thirty minutes. It was reviewing your own games not out of narcissism but out of necessity. It was watching other games in analysis of technique. It was creating new drills unfailing.

The game was still young, and it only meant for growth. Potential.

He would hold that accountable to Neil. Kevin had seen that raw power and energy that made exy strength in Neil Josten. The Foxes’ line-up had the potential; it had the drive. It was Neil being dragged from Millport to Palmetto. It was Neil angering Andrew and delaying his potential. It was Neil being stubborn. It was Nathaniel hiding in plain sight. It was Kevin hiding Nathaniel; Kevin’s best kept secret from Andrew. It was looking down at his own scarred hand when he saw the blue eyes from his childhood.

Kevin watched the boy who had ran. He should have been a coward. No, only Kevin was. Where Neil had run Kevin had frozen. It was finding Neil’s leg pressed against his frozen after the audience watched Kevin and his _brother_ hug. It was blanking whilst Neil spilled words that only asphyxiated him. It was Neil and his antagonistic streak.

It was Neil being stupid.

But it was Neil on court pushing, pushing, pushing. It was Neil landing his first score against Andrew. It was Neil training with Kevin. It was Kevin’s heart hammered in the game against the Ravens, as he passed to the striker. His left hand twitched but his right hand was furious. It was his game. He would make it their game. Kevin would make court once more: not as second best, not alone, not without Neil. Kevin had believed in the boy from Millport and he still would.

* * *

Kevin had lost his mother younger than any person should have but older than Riko had. Kayleigh Day was a legacy more tangible with an iron grip on a racket and a game that she had birthed. Whether he remembered his mother from his own memories, or from the memories of others, Kevin Day knew his mother was _the_ Kayleigh Day.

He took comfort in that, in her legacy. But more than that he still wanted to latch onto something more than the weight of racket or the force of a game. He did not ask for a replacement, for no one could. He did ask for that strength.

For it must have started on that winter night. Sometimes when he and the rest of the foxes are exhausted in the bus, quiet and sleeping on their trip home, Kevin remembers the feeling of curling his large body into a tiny thing on the front row of the Foxes’ bus. The time when he had a dress draped over him and a woman sat ready to block onlookers from curious glances. He could cradle his hand though raw it was wrapped in quick clean stitches and bandages.

It was all those times he stayed at Abby’s during the holidays. It was helping her cook, though, really, he was merely watching. It was conversing with her about his exy plays. It was letting himself crumble in her arms, her stature so small but so strong. It was believing her when she said it would be okay. It was the relief in his throat when she ran after him, checking he was okay. It was sniping whatever drink she gave him whether it was alcohol to drown himself in or a refreshing beverage to cool down.

As medically skilled as she was, she would never be able to heal the scar or the phantom numbness in his nerves but when she held his hand to comfort, Kevin did not need his hand. She held him tighter than his hand could.

* * *

Kevin swore he had not held a tighter grip on his racket than he did in that February before the Spring matches. Wymack running through drills that would throw him back into the game. Kevin did not need to be eased in, though he knew his limits.

Far too often, Kevin found himself pacing back and forth in Wymack’s office or apartment. Fear and helplessness made for an agitated striker in any news relating to the Moriyamas. Kevin would always be a commodity. He had accepted it. With the Ravens, his value had been tied to national teams he fought in. But with the Foxes, he was unsure. Of course, Kevin was the best player there was not a doubt within him—he would only be outshone if Andrew bothered. But it was not numbers and cash. It was how he had become starting striker.

It was being given a set of keys to the stadium for his own time. It was the foxes’ card spoiling him in exy gear. It was sitting in Wymack’s office late discussing plays, strategies, and drills. It was being handed vodka when it got rough. It was pacing the apartment, listening to Wymack’s assurances. It was being given his own space. It was being given the space to be independent. It was for Kevin, as a person. It was never for Kevin Day, starting striker.

It was asking Wymack for the best tattoo parlour. It was seeing the gruff face grunt an approving nod at the change to his appearance. It was hearing the approval before the final game against the Ravens. It was Kevin being able to say what he had only been able to wish for, to his father. The games that could be watched by those stern caring eyes.

* * *

There could be no stunned rabbits for ravens to pick at. No, it was a court of foxes. They were predators.

Kevin gripped his racket as Wymack spoke with him: his father watched his games. Kevin held onto the Abby’s beliefs: encouragement and vulnerability. Kevin held Andrew’s promise: it was old but it had strength. Kevin held onto Neil’s stupidity: the rebellion to the Moriyamas. Kevin would hold his own: the betrayal to Riko. It was not retaliation. Kevin did not act with emotion nor impulse. Kevin was all conviction and analysis.

It was ignoring Riko. It was being the best striker. It was always exy. But it had always been about Kevin.

Kevin gripped his exy racket as he stalked onto the court. And when he switched his hands, playing against the Ravens with his left once more, he knew the rest of the foxes were smiling, teeth baring. It was those unrelenting nights they had trained together. They would win against the Ravens. They would win with a fierceness no one could grip.


End file.
